


Stay (With Me Always)

by bulletsandbutterflies (turningpages)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, M/M, Mild Rough Sex, Mostly porn, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post Reichenbach, Sherlock has feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turningpages/pseuds/bulletsandbutterflies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tomorrow, John will probably blame it on the adrenaline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay (With Me Always)

Tomorrow, John will probably blame it on the adrenaline. 

He’d attribute it to a moment of weakness brought about by witnessing another of Sherlock’s near death experience. He was so close to losing him. Too close. It was a bloody miracle that he was able to find Sherlock at all in the murky water, let alone drag him back to surface. And the one and a half minute he spent performing CPR on Sherlock’s lifeless body was no doubt by far the worst moment of his life (although this is very debatable considering he had watched Sherlock fall to his supposed death four years ago).

But right now, he’s only going to focus on the way Sherlock is clenching around him and the filthy sounds pouring out from his mouth.

Sherlock looks gorgeous like this – on his hands and knees, hands clawing for something to hold on to before finding their way to the cold metal bars of the headboard. John has both of his hands on Sherlock’s slim hips, pulling him back against his thrusts, wrenching cry after cry out of the dark haired man. 

John wanted to go slow, wanted to savor the moment while he could. But how could he when Sherlock keeps babbling things like _“harder, John”_ and _“make me yours”_ and _“I want to feel you in the morning”_? 

And now he’s close. He can feel his climax rising like a tempest in him, making him lose his rhythm, hips stuttering. But he doesn’t want to finish like this. Not like this. He pulls out of Sherlock, earning a low whine, and turns him over so that he’s on his back, staring up at John with those maddening stormy eyes. 

Throwing one of Sherlock’s long legs over his good shoulder, he plunges back in with one thrust, and immediately starts a punishing rhythm, pounding against Sherlock’s prostate with an unerring aim. Sherlock keens and flings his arms above his hand to grip the headboard again, his face a mask of painful ecstasy. John likes this more than he expects. He likes how he’s able to reduce this brilliant man into moans and pleasure-induced cries.

Sherlock is raising his hips, trying to meet John’s every thrust. He moves his hands from the headboard to cradle John’s face, pulling him down for a bruising kiss. He breaks it of too soon, and with a gasp says, “Close. So close, John.”

Panting, John speeds up, resting his forehead on Sherlock’s. “Come on, Sherlock. Please, love, come for me.”

A few more thrusts and Sherlock’s back arches, letting out broken wail, as his muscles clenches tightly – almost painfully – around John. He rides out his orgasm, moaning out _“John, John, John”_ like a prayer.

John keeps driving into him, desperately chasing his own orgasm. He watches as Sherlock’s looks up at him, whimpering softly with each thrust. He tugs at John’s left hand, bringing it up to his lips, and breathing against his palm for a few heartbeats before placing a chaste kiss on John’s ring.

And that’s all it took to push John over the edge. He comes with a choked shout, panting heavily against Sherlock’s shoulder. He bites down hard enough to break the skin, and distantly hears Sherlock breathe out a _“yes”_ just as John turns boneless and slump on top of him.

For a while it’s just like that: John laying on Sherlock with his head on his bony, pale shoulder, and the only sound coming from their heavy breathing. After a few minutes, John pulls out gently, causing Sherlock to groan at the loss, and rolls over to the side, barely catching the dampness of Sherlock’s eyes and cheeks.

But when he stands and is about to leave, Sherlock grasps his wrist, holding him in place. John turns back and for a moment they’re just staring at each other. John tries to memorize the way Sherlock looks right now, looking extremely debauched with swollen lips, bruises on his hips, and a bite mark on his shoulder (and seeing this John is swept with a heady sense of power knowing that Sherlock is his, his, and only his).

“Stay,” Sherlock whispers and tugs John softly.

John swallows and nods, climbing back into bed and pulling the covers on top of them. Sherlock rolls over to his side, molding their bodies together ( _God_ how they fit perfectly), and burying his face into the crook of John’s neck. He makes a sad noise, between a sob and sniffle, and John instinctively wraps his arms tighter around him, bringing Sherlock closer to his body. He waits for Sherlock to fall asleep, before letting himself drift away.

Tomorrow, John will tell Mary that he fell asleep on the couch of 221B after a whole day of running around trying to chase a crazed murderer. He’ll buy her flowers, take her out to dinner, and by night she’ll forgive him for not calling first and worrying her. Tomorrow, John will think about the guilt he’s supposed to feel and the pain of having to leave Sherlock’s bed.

But right now, John’s just going to focus on the man – the only one who has truly owned his heart for the last five years – curled up in his arms.


End file.
